


Ultramarine

by lamagicienne



Series: Shades of Blue [1]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Build, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamagicienne/pseuds/lamagicienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to apologize.” The words feel like dung in Tyler’s mouth but he is pleased with the firm tone of his voice. It betrays nothing of his heartbeat which is quick and almost painful in all its silly intensity.</p><p>Shades of Blue series, part I (Tyler Clary/Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I know. This idea is completely retarted. I've never seen this pairing even done before. And yet... the first thing that came to my mind after reading Clary's interview in July was that this might just be a cry for attention. That's also where this story starts: in Knoxville, at the US Olympic swim team's training camp, a couple of days after Clary's comments were published.

I

Chess, Tyler thinks, is something his teammates would excel at. A game that’s all about guarding the king seems kind of cut out for them. And the king doesn’t have to do as much as lift a finger in his own defense nor does he have to explain anything to the people gathered around him when Tyler shows up at his doorstep after what has been a wakeful night.

The days recently have been hellish, too. The curious, slightly mocking looks he gets from Berens and Jones when they leave Michael’s room are tame by comparison with what the specter of reactions from his teammates had to offer of so far: irritation, disbelief, disappointment, contempt.

Tyler has heard it ad nauseam how this is pretty much the last thing everybody needed: one Olympian bashing the other’s work ethics to the press. Especially when the latter is on his way to his fourth Olympics with a total of fourteen gold medals in his wake – and the former is but a mouthy first time Olympian who never once beat him in actual competition. There have been heated discussions among the coaches and officials on how this could severely damage the whole team’s morals and how Phelps with friends like these sure doesn’t need enemies anymore…

They’re all so goddamn protective of him.

At seven-thirty in the morning, no less than five people are hanging out in the small room that Michael shares with Ryan Lochte. It doesn't come as a surprise, actually. They've been hovering over him during the last days as if apprehending an attempt on his life.

Tyler doesn’t have the advantage of being thusly guarded against animosity. Large parts of the team have been barely civil to him ever since the interview came out. There were punishing silences as well as angry rows and both have left him somewhat drained. PVK and Charlie Houchin in particular were less than impressed with his statements.

“On the next episode of Wolverines of Ann Arbor…” Tyler hears Grevers mutter under his breath as they pass each other and petulantly thinks, _Except that Phelps was never truly a Wolverine._

Lochte is expectedly the last to leave, Michael giving him a tiny nod as if indicating that he can handle the situation without accidentally shoving Tyler out of the window.

The team expects a public apology to clear the air (done) and his coach expects his two boys to sit down and talk about what happened. Michael’s not any keener on bothering with Tyler than vice versa. But he’ll do it for the same reason Tyler will: Jon Urbanchek asked for it and they’ll both go out of their way to content the old man.

They agree on that if on nothing else.

Tyler’s dislike of Michael has always amused Jon. It has been evident almost from the start when Tyler was a freshman at UM even if he never really put it into words. Until now: on the eve of his first Olympics, he had to go and spill his guts (or only part of them, actually, since he could have said much more) to a journalist. Understandably, Jon is not amused now, having to placate a furious Bob Bowman and interrogate his charge about what the _hell_ he was thinking and did he forget about all his media training just like that…?

Of course, Tyler meant every word he said. Michael IS a distant person, he HAS always treated Tyler like shit, he DID slack off his training even prior to Beijing and he SAID he was never going to swim the 400 IM again and then went and did it anyway on some _whim_ , ruining Tyler'S chances in the process. But agreed, while it felt good at that moment to finally come out and say those things, it’s not worth the trouble – and it’s definitely not worth the hassle this aftermath means for Jon. The least Tyler can do is own up to it.

 _As Michael would,_ a tiny voice in the back of his mind pipes up. _Guy’s been nothing but a shining example of accountability whenever he fucked something up._

Tyler pulls the door shut and they are alone with each other – which hasn’t happened too often in all the years since they’ve first met. Actually, it possibly hasn’t ever happened at all. They didn’t socialize at UM, had different groups of friends on the swim team. And at meets, for whatever reason, until very recently Michael has always been avoiding him like the bubonic plague. So on top of the less than desirable task ahead of him – it’s never easy to apologize to someone you don’t like, Tyler guesses – he also has to deal with his nerves fluttering because of this whole unusual situation. And here Jon is always praising his mental toughness, how he doesn’t get fazed by racing the two greatest swimmers in the world.

“I want to apologize.” The words feel like dung in Tyler’s mouth but he is pleased with the firm tone of his voice. It betrays nothing of his heartbeat which is quick and almost painful in all its silly intensity. “I want you to know that what was written in that article was, um, mostly not how I said it at the time. It was taken out of context.” It is what he told Jon already and what they agreed on passing on to the media.

Michael just sweeps an apathetic gaze over him and puts his hands on his thighs. “There was a video.”

That’s right, the whole thing was being recorded and published on the reporter’s blog later on. “You watched it?” Tyler can’t stop himself from asking – it seems so outlandish that Michael would actually make the effort and get hold of the video just to listen to something Tyler said about him.

Michael’s eyes narrow. “Of course, we watched it.”

And so he would know, Tyler thinks, that “taken out of context” is straining the truth a bit. There was no real context his words could have been taken out of, just the questions – and the answers. Michael knows this, Bowman knows it, everybody who listens to the interview will know. It makes the whole idea of them sitting down and talking just window-dressing.

And they’re not going to talk, Tyler understands. Michael’s glance is like a hazel-colored flicker from the other side of the room, barely there and gone again. After years of witnessing this odd phenomenon, Tyler is very familiar with it so he too averts his eyes.

He said that Michael is a distant person, but what he means is that Michael is _elusive_. Standing here opposite Tyler, leaning against the windowsill, Michael is somewhere else entirely. Tyler looks up, about to say that he'll just leave now – and is met with the full power of that gaze. It forces the breath back into his lungs.

Michael’s eyes are narrowed ever so slightly and the hint of a smirk grazes his thin lips when he inquires: “So are you _going_ to apologize or just leave it at the announcement?”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the positive feedback!  
> Somebody asked how I came up with the idea of Jon Urbanchek urging Michael and Tyler to clear up the air - I didn't actually. There was an article in the Baltimore Sun a few days after the interview was published in which Urbanchek was quoted with this.

II

For a variety of reasons, Michael’s never gotten the knack of making mortal enemies out of his true competitors. Ryan, while his fiercest adversary in the pool, is his best friend. Cavic made him laugh even when he sometimes wanted to punch the little shit. And Ian – both Ians are so bloody nice guys, it’s just impossible to carry grudges against them outside the water. So what has always been missing was someone he could both take seriously and detest in peace.

And wouldn't that have been interesting – to see if and how real hatred would have affected or even transformed his swimming. Unfortunately, he thinks eying Clary in all his self-righteous glory, this guy once again proves a failure at being taken seriously, not only as a swimmer, but as a human being, too.

The naivety of Clary’s so-called apology amazes Michael. Taken out of context – did he come up with that one on his own? Does he expect Michael to buy into that crap, just say “no hard feelings” and get back to business? It’s what he will do eventually: get on with the preparations for London and push this bullshit to the very back of his mind, but it’s also not lost on him that Clary merely claims he wants to apologize – and never does so.

Jon means well, Michael reflects, he wants them to get the last forty-eight hours out of their systems, to finally speak about what was said, why this pops up now and where it all went wrong to begin with… and then he wants them to shake hands and bury the hatchet.

It’s what grownup people would do, sure, but the fact remains that Clary is a worm. A worm living in his own little world, where people can win eight gold medals in one competition without properly training for it and perceive guys who never came anywhere close to beating them as a “threat”.

And this is really just the tip of the iceberg of Clary’s delusions, there’s more shit he’s probably not even aware of. Michael can’t help thinking it’s not the greatest idea ever to go into all of that right before London. They’ve enough on their plates as it is already.

Afterwards it won’t matter, though, because Michael will be gone. The _complete satisfaction_ Tyler spoke of– when he would finally beat Michael – will be forever out of reach. That was the one moment during that interview Michael thinks when it became clear how his teammate really feels. Some of the reporter’s questions were suggestive, but the _complete satisfaction_ was all Clary. Michael wonders in retrospect how he could have overlooked that Tyler has such a severe problem with him, that the roots of his resentment towards Michael reach that deep.

As a matter of fact, he’d been led to believe things between them had recently developed into a more companionable direction. In Omaha, he had somehow managed to forget how Clary always used to irritate the living hell out of him: so cocky, so full of himself – and all the while radiating silent disapproval wherever Michael was concerned. If Michael had ever had to name his least favorite teammate, Clary would have won hands down.

London approaching is what changed his outlook on things a bit. Michael was being sincere when he congratulated Tyler on his making the team. He’s still not a Clary fan, but this is his last season, the end of his swimming career, of life as he knows it. It felt like the right thing to do, wrapping up loose ends. He feels kind of stupid about it now as if he’s fallen into a trap.

It was difficult to put this into words to Jon Urbanchek who for some reason thinks highly of Tyler. Just as he thinks highly of Michael, suggesting even that the two of them don’t get along because they have a lot in common.

(“Look, Michael, I’m not vindicating him, but I firmly believe things got out of hand like this because you never addressed the matter.”

“I was just never aware that there was a matter to address…”

“I know that – and I know you never treated him especially badly, he just expected not to be treated like everybody else.”

“I treat everybody like shit, some just take it better that others – is that what you’re saying?”

Jon chuckles and puts a lined hand on his underarm – tanned, Michael muses, from years of being exposed to the sun and the element of purity. “I’m just saying you two could just as well see this as a chance to finally get to understand each other better, that’s why you should talk.”)

Bob interestingly enough gave Michael a completely different advice when he heard of the planned conversation.

“Forget about it.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that Michael does something just because Bob recommends the opposite. As a general rule, they don’t meddle in each other’s private stuff, but here, the lines are blurred. It is a personal thing between him and Clary, the fact that they can’t stand each other. It would be more or less the same if they were working in a bank. But since Clary felt the need to clad his animosity in words towards the press, it affects their professional relationship as well.

This is useless, Michael thinks and sincerely entertains the idea of checking his watch if they are past the estimated fifteen minutes some kind of conflict-solving get-together would require so they can at least act the part. Instead he keeps his eyes on Clary who has fallen silent, recalling maybe the so-called context of what he said and what Michael might read from it.

He notices the jolt that goes through Clary, the sharp intake of breath when he realizes that Michael is still watching him. He doesn’t look as if he got much sleep last night, Michael thinks. The last days can’t have been pleasant even though Michael made it clear to the others that he doesn’t want them to give Clary a hard time. Not that Tyler is ever going to be grateful for that, if he knows at all.

He’s been carrying a grudge that grew only stronger with every year that passed, with every gold Michael won. Trials for the 400 IM were probably just the last straw in a long series of humiliations that Michael never realized handing to him, so he decided to vent his spleen to the media at the most inconvenient of times.

And now the wanker is feeling sorry for himself because he has to deal with the consequences. Michael can see it in his face and it makes his temper rise in a way no trash talking ever could.

“So are you _going_ to apologize or just leave it at the announcement?”

A flash of pure resentment ignites Clary’s eyes, effectively doing away with the deer-caught-in-headlights look from before. Michael has to fight down his urge to smile. So Tyler was really thinking he’d get out of this via taken-out-of-context road.

It’s a delightful split of a second before Clary gets his facial expression back under control, but it’s enough to reveal just how much he hates having to kowtow here before Michael as a result of speaking up about things he’s convinced are nothing but the truth.

Just how much he hates – Michael.

This is certainly not the way Jon may have promised himself things would be going but Michael can’t resist. Drawing back from one button, he’s already considering the next to go for.  


	3. Three

III

For as long as Tyler can remember there have always been two camps with regards to Michael’s often less than stellar attitude: the He-acts-like-this-because-he’s-an-asshole faction and the He-acts-like-this-because-he’s-a-mental-case faction.

Tyler has been in the former pretty much ever since he had the misfortune to run across US swimming’s golden boy at the vulnerable age of nineteen. He barely remembers what he thought of Phelps before their time together at UM. There are flashes of TV images ingrained in his memory, blurring together – Athens, Melbourne. But if he ever harbored any feelings of admiration or hero worship or even the wish to be like him, they were quickly extinguished by Michael himself and the way he treated Tyler during his freshman year.

Or rather how he _didn’t_ treat Tyler.

They were training at the same pool and to this day people just naturally assume that Tyler must have seen some kind of role-model in Phelps. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. If they spoke even a couple of times during Tyler’s first months at Club Wolverine, it’s an optimistic estimate – and that wasn’t for lack of trying on Tyler’s part.

Phelps just never fit in with the rest of them – an alien being, adept at only one thing, unviable without it. There were always those who tried to soft-pedal his idiosyncrasies, ascribing them to his ADHD, his difficult childhood, his general social awkwardness. Even his friends were well aware of his less than delectable character traits – Erik Vendt and the Vanderkaay brothers. They would say it’s just Michael and that legendary focus of his (or his blinders, as Tyler still prefers to think). But Tyler still got the impression that Michael was always especially short-spoken with him. 

There were also those on the team who perceived his reclusiveness as a provocation and would try to actively go against it, to challenge him at every turn, to talk shit to his face – and then had to eat their own words, when he blew their lights out in the water right afterwards.  

In all honesty, he never _ever_ rubbed it in when he won those races. And he usually did. The more crap they gave him, the larger the distance by which he out-touched them. He was his usual aloof self when he climbed out of the pool after these occasions. They resented him for that more than for anything else, because it seemed the ultimate proof of just _how_ different he was from everybody else that he didn’t even have to gloat about something like that.  

But he’s gloating now, ever so slightly. At first, Tyler thinks he might be mistaken, but Michael’s enjoying this – to enforce the upper hand, to know that everybody’s on his side and Tyler stands alone. The pressure’s on. It’s just a game with words, an empty phrase as compared to a meaningful one but Tyler can’t say he’s sorry. He can post it on twitter, all right.

He just can’t bring himself to actually say it to Michael's face.

And Michael knows this, his eyes are alight with mockery, contempt – Tyler isn’t sure what. All he can think of is Omaha, the 400 IM, his black despair at not being good enough again, not making it this time around either because together, Ryan and Michael are like a fucking human wall. As a matter of fact, he did well in that race, given all circumstances. It wasn't exactly a personal best, but what can you expect swimming with a viral infection? He still would have qualified, if it hadn't been for Michael stealing this race from him by - after not swimming it for three years - all of a sudden deciding that he wasn’t done with it yet. And then he had the nerve to congratulate Tyler after the 200 fly on finally making the team.

Tyler doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but the impulse is right there, too strong to be ignored. “How about you go first?”

Michael snorts, not even trying to pretend he doesn’t know what Tyler’s at. He’s heard it before obviously, on audio file. “Oh, _here_ we go…”

“The 400 IM. That was my race, I worked hard for that. _You_ were finished with it.”

“Your race?” Michael repeats incredulously. “Remind me – who the fuck died and said so?”

Tyler doesn’t waver. “You did. Remember four years ago? When you told everybody you weren’t gonna swim it anymore?”

“I remember. I changed my mind. So?”

Heat spreads underneath Tyler’s skin. “I put years of preparation into this and you – you fucking lied about –“

“Yeah, I forgot I’ve you to answer to whenever I say or do something.”

“Like that’s not what you were thinking?” Tyler snaps. “How I would be affected?”

“Now wait a sec. You think I chose to swim the event because I begrudge it to you or something? It wasn’t even my idea...”

“No, of course not,” Tyler sneers. “After three years, the idea suddenly enters your mind just when I’m about to swim it at the Olympics. That’s just a coincidence, got absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“You ever get the feeling that not everything is about you?”

“You’re one to talk,” Tyler takes a step towards him, unconsciously moving in on Michael as if to intimidate him with his physical presence. “You’re an obstacle, Phelps. It’s not just me who thinks so, you know. You’ve been blocking the road for years for a lot of people who are much better than you, who’d deserve it so much more than you do –“

“Who deserve what? Other people blaming them for their own failures?” Michael, too, has been taking a step forward, his eyes dark with resentment. “That just proves what I’ve always thought of you, Clary. Underneath all that bravado, there’s simply not a lot of self-esteem.” Michael holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Don’t say it – that’s probably also my fault somehow. Because I wasn’t nicer to you? Or how did you put it, I wasn’t friendly?”

Tyler is this short of hitting him, but Michael isn’t finished yet. “Maybe you never noticed but at trials they use this little thing called a stopwatch. I’m not keeping you from anything, Clary. You want you take – no need to obsess about the guy next lane.”

They’re standing close, eyes burning into each other’s. Michael’s breath breaking against Tyler’s face when he leans in a little more. He cocks his head as if a thought entered his mind all of a sudden. “And what was that about my workouts at UM? Creeping around while nobody knew you’re there? You do that a lot?”

Something about those words goes straight to the pit of Tyler’s stomach, building a small blistering knot of frustration. Yes, he was watching – a lot. Not just workouts, not just competitions. For years of his life, all he could do was watching as Phelps hauled in the gold, the fame, the glory.

Behind the scenes, there was drama in abundance at Club Wolverine – Michael and Bowman yelling expletives at each other during practice, Bowman once throwing his coffee mug at Michael before Tyler’s very eyes. There were nights when Tyler witnessed Michael drinking and smoking, but then the next morning, he would tell some reporter by the poolside in a completely sincere voice about how his life practically consisted of “swimming, eating and sleeping”. And there was – always – the distant flicker of those eyes, never once lingering on Tyler, never really taking him in.

Looking into them now, Tyler realizes he’s been longing for this: to be the object of that focus and if it’s just for one time. He wasn’t even conscious of that strange wish before and so of course he never imagined what would happen when he’d finally get what he wanted. Figures it would end in a fight.

It's suffocating in its intensity and suddenly all he wants is out of the room. “You know what? I’m done here. We’re not going to resolve anything like this, so let’s just stop.” Even though he’s still angry – severely so – Tyler can hear the hint of resignation in his own voice, bordering on bitterness.

Michael seems perplexed for a moment as if he too got carried away by one word giving the other and forgot the purpose this little chat was originally supposed to serve. His eyes are transfixed on Tyler’s for another couple of seconds as if there's something beneath the surface that he can't quite figure out, but then he nods. “Fine with me. If you have nothing nice to say and all that.” Unexpectedly, his features soften almost imperceptibly. “I guess there’s no reason Jon needs to know about how this went.”

Tyler draws a deep breath before he turns to leave. “Deal.”

The corridor is blessedly empty when he steps outside, save for one lone figure sprawled out in an armchair as best as he’s able to fit his six feet two in there. While the others went on to breakfast, Lochte made a point of waiting for Michael. So he surely must have heard them yelling at each other behind the door.

He looks at Tyler with a tiny, incredulous shake of his head. “Seriously, man, what the fuck?”

That stings a bit. Lochte is a great person in Tyler’s opinion. Not that there was ever any question whose side he was going to be on when the chips are down. But even though he’s close to Phelps – and he might just be the one person on the team Michael completely confides in – he hasn’t given Tyler any shit so far for the interview. Lochte’s been watching in silence, but now he can’t help but hand out his idea of a rebuke.    

Tyler bites his lip and doesn’t reply, even though he’s actually wondering the same. What the fuck indeed. He went to Michael to soothe the waters so to speak, to do Jon a favor, but things span out of control so quickly that Tyler can hardly believe it in retrospect. One stupid comment and within seconds his blood was boiling to the point where he could’ve ripped Michael to shreds.  

That’s new, actually. For all their mutual dislike, they never once got into an actual fight. For the first time, Tyler entertains the thought that maybe Michael was actually taken by surprise when Tyler spoke his mind about him to the press. _Yeah, right._ The odds are that behind that door Michael doesn’t spend his time thinking about him or anything he said at all.

He is in a sense the bane of Tyler’s existence: unmatchable, unconquerable, unapproachable. And there is no way in hell Tyler will ever be able to pay him back in his own coin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	4. Four

IV

Anger still scorches Michael’s insides when he grabs his backpack and steps through the door after hearing Clary’s steps disappear down the corridor. Years of experience in such matters tell him that he’ll get a grip on himself within the next couple of minutes, but in this very moment, Michael is a bit at a loss about how to explain what the fuck just happened.

The list of people who thus far managed to engage him in a screaming match is short. Actually, it’s only been Bob ever since Michael’s teenage years – and that’s kind of a work pattern by now. The likes of Clary certainly shouldn’t be able to throw him off balance so much.

Thankfully, the antidote is waiting just outside the room, blue eyes immediately finding his, just a tad apprehensive. “How’d it go?” Ryan asks superfluously.

Michael raises a brow. “Like you haven’t heard for yourself?”

Ryan shrugs and gets up from his armchair. In spite of everything else on his mind, Michael can’t help but marvel at the effortless grace of his movements. “I guess he had to tell you once.”

“Yeah, great timing, too.”

“Well, it’s kind of obvious he’s been carrying that around for a while.”

Michael throws him a glance. The three of them have been to countless meets together over the years. From what Michael could tell, Ryan has always gotten along with Tyler – not spectacularly well, but he usually gets along okay with everyone who crosses his path and Tyler was never an exception. As a matter of fact, Michael suspects that Tyler would have liked to be friends with Ryan but never even tried to deepen their acquaintance because of Ryan’s close friendship with Michael.

“Did he ever talk to _you_ about any of… this?”

“No,” Ryan says. “But to be honest, he didn’t need to. I could see how – I mean, he wanted the attention and never got it.”

Michaels snorts. “Well, this stunt sure _got_ him attention. But hey, swimming officials probably think any kind of publicity is good publicity.”

“Not the press, man. I was talking about you.”

It takes Michael a few seconds to digest this. “That’s retarded”, he says.

Ryan smiles almost wistfully. “That’s Clary.” He pauses. “Look, I’m not sure you really get –“

“I do,” Michael interrupts.

Ryan seems surprised. He frowns a little. “Do you?”

“Yeah, he said it himself – I wasn’t very nice to him over the years."

Ryan stares at him blankly.

"Meaning," Michael tries to be a bit more precise, "I didn’t fall over myself when we were at UM about how he’s an awesome swimmer, that he’s destined to do great things, that I feel totally threatened by his butterfly or whatever.” He pauses. “You know what’s funny? He never said anything to me, either. Not even ,good job’ or something after Beijing.”  

“That’s different, Mike.”

“I know.”

Not a lot of people are talking to Tyler nowadays Michael can’t help notice when he slides into his seat at the cafeteria during lunchtime. And if they do, conversation seems slightly strained. Even before that interview Tyler was never spectacularly popular with large parts of the swimming community. He always had a big mouth and exceeded that holier-than-thou attitude he refers to as his blue collar approach (which doesn’t sit well with all the merpeople who work hard and play hard).

Brendan Hansen, their newly appointed team captain, sits with Tyler. He probably regards their little feud as his very own baptism of fire. In three Olympics, Michael has actually never witnessed any severe conflicts between two team members, so if Brendan can handle this, he can possibly handle anything. After talking quietly and animatedly with Clary for a little while, he comes over to where Michael is sitting.

“So,” he gives Michael a crooked smile. “That didn’t go so well, I hear.”

Michael idly plays with his fork, all too aware of six pairs of eyes directed at him. It just figures that Clary started whining to Brendan about their fight when they’d actually agreed on not letting anything slip in order not to upset Jon. But perhaps Michael’s doing him wrong for once – if Brendan just assumed things, he can’t very well expect Tyler to lie about it.

In which case Michael can spill the beans just as well. He glances around, briefly making eye-contact with everyone at the table before he lowers his gaze again. “In summary, he told me that I’m undeserving of anything I’ve achieved, that I’m a liar – about the 400 IM, you know, and that I’m just blocking the way for other swimmers who work much harder than I ever did…”

There is a moment of speechless silence before Ricky mutters “Fuckturd,” which earns him a chorus of acquiescent murmurs from most of the others at the table. “That’s even worse than what he said before.”

Cullen frowns. “Did I miss something or didn’t he come to you to apologize?”

“He changed his mind halfway through it.”

“Wow, that’s what I call mature.”

“That’s what you say now, but if you knew how I decided to swim the 400 IM out of pure spite so he wouldn’t get to qualify…” Michael raises his brow.

“What’s that?” Matt asks. “The world according to Clary?”

“He told me the same, more or less,” Brendan nods.

Michael catches Ryan’s gaze across the table. Better than anyone, Ryan knows this to be completely untrue: Michael would never have gone for the 400 IM if the decision had only been his own. But the federation, the media want a duel – not just any duel: the toughest, most demanding race there is to be had.

Predictably, everyone pushed the one button that would ensure Michael’s collaboration: It’s good for swimming, for the promotion of their sport. They know he’ll do almost anything for that. Ryan knows all this and this knowledge is being communicated between them via a single look of mutual understanding.

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles. Michael can’t help but grin at how easily the word falls from his lips when he himself and Clary were having such issues with it. Talk about good character. Or lack of it.

Cullen shakes his head. “Well, I’m sorry too, I have to be on a team with that douchebag.”

“It’s ridiculous he even gets to go to the Olympics after that stunt. In any other country –“

Michael’s heard that tune before from his team mates, so he’s not surprised at the next suggestion.

“I still say we have a little chat with him about the dos and don’ts of an Olympian.”  

He steps in:  “I meant what I said this morning. I don’t want you to bully him or something.”

“But if Clary decides he wants to go on bullying _you_ , that’s okay?”

They don’t understand, Michael thinks. Tyler could never effectively “bully” him, because he lacks the pivotal element you need if you really want to harass somebody: a group.

Brendan shakes his head. “That's not what he was doing, guys. He made a mistake with that interview, yes, and he couldn’t control his emotions today, but nevertheless, he’s –“

“A whiner,” Matt interrupts, “who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“And he’s fucking jealous of Michael,” Ricky adds. “He can’t stand that you’ve won so much and he didn’t even get to Beijing in the first place.”  

“I agree,” Matt nods. “It seems personal in a really bad way, all the more because he never said anything before. Or did he ever come up to you with any of that?”

“Not really,” Michael hesitates. “I mean I was aware that I’ve never been his favorite person to begin with, but…” he trails off.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that”, Nathan throws in casually.  

“Um, about what?”

“That you’re not his favorite person.”   

Michael stares. So do the others.

“How exactly is back-off-my-shtick-you-underachiever a code for I-want-to-bang-you?” Matt asks while Michael still ponders whether he got it wrong.

Nathan shrugs. “It’s just a vibe. I may be wrong.”

“You probably are,” Ryan throws in just when Nathan says: “But I don’t think I am.”

For some reason, maybe because it comes from Nathan, no one immediately dismisses the idea as a joke. Instead, a weird and unusual silence falls over their group, wheels turning behind each and every forehead.

They aren’t shocked so much by the idea of one of them having a crush on another guy. There are homosexuals on the team, bisexuals too. Two of the latters are actually sitting at this very table and Michael himself is aware that even some of his purely friendly feelings towards Ryan may classify as “tender” or some shit like that. They sometimes sit closer together than Michael did with many dates.

Michael isn’t exactly privy to Clary’s sexual preferences, but from what he’s witnessed over the years, Tyler isn’t gay. He has a girlfriend, been with her for a year or two now – and in Michigan, he had one too, if Michael isn’t mistaken. There were never any rumours about Tyler and guys as far as Michael can tell. And even if he actually swings that way, what are the odds of him picking someone he so obviously can’t stand?  

The thought of _Tyler Clary_ of all people having a crush on him is so outlandish that Michael cannot even laugh it off right away. He thinks of Ann Arbor, of the locker room they were sharing on the campus facilities, of dropping their clothes in front of each other countless times, of Tyler visibly paling today when Michael confronted him about watching his workouts in secret.

He snaps himself out of it. “You’ve lost it, Adrian.”

Nathan’s slanting eyes are cheerful. “No. I haven’t.”

Ryan chuckles and tilts his head ever so slightly when Michael catches his eye. That’s what he was going on about earlier, Michael realizes, when he spoke about Tyler trying to catch his attention.

Michael throws his apple at him which provokes only more mirth, but it also destroys the rest of the strange atmosphere that had settled between them before. “Seriously,” he mutters.

A few jokes are finally being cracked – some at Clary’s, some at Nathan’s expense, but Michael’s mind is elsewhere. Images in his memory are alternating quickly: Tyler in Omaha earlier this summer, Michael patting his back after the 200 fly; in Rome, Tyler in conversation with Cavic, his gaze briefly fixing on Michael when he passes them in the corridor; at some meet he can’t remember the location of, how he kept wishing Ryan were there with him instead of Tyler and not even bothered speaking to Clary over breakfast.   

“Hey.” Brendan’s voice penetrates his thoughts. Michael looks up to see his team captain’s eyes directed at him. Brendan smiles reassuringly, sensing perhaps the dash of discomfort even though he’s mistaken about the source.   

“Don’t let any of this get to you. It’s going to be the best last meet of your life, I promise.”

Michael rolls his eyes at that, but he’s laughing all the same. “I’ll trust you on that one.” He speaks to Brendan, but the words are directed at everyone at the table – they’re his kind of indistinct way of letting his teammates know how much he appreciates their support. Or the fact that they’re putting up with him, at all.

A group can be effective not just to bully other people, Michael reminds himself, but to keep somebody safe, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of a series which will be continued in "Azure". Next stop: London.


End file.
